I
worked in this hospice
once
and when we took
the dead
through
to
the morgue
we had to walk
through
the
cancer wing
where all
were hanging on
to their own thread of
hope.
we
came through
like a battle flag
a clarion call
like the truth
like harsh reality
like a common bond
like fate
much like
an all embracing
warm black envelope
for a letter
that no one
wanted to read.
r james sterzinger
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hospice-for-robert-lowell/
